


The Short Happy LIfe of Robert Wilson

by YanaKeehl



Category: The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber
Genre: Angst, F/M, HISHE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-28 21:48:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12616284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YanaKeehl/pseuds/YanaKeehl
Summary: That's how you make yourself into a bloody man.





	The Short Happy LIfe of Robert Wilson

**Author's Note:**

> That's how I thought "The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber" would end.  
> English is not my native language, so I will be grateful if you show me my mistakes :)

_...and he did not see Wilson now and, aiming carefully, shot again with the buffalo's huge bulk almost on him and his rifle almost level with on-coming head, nose out, and he could see the little wicked eyes and the head started to lower,_ but then it suddenly convulsively flitched and the buffalo bumped into him, forcing him to fall on the ground, and fell on him afterwards.

Macomber felt like his chest met his spine and now there was no space between them. He couldn't breathe normally or move any part of his body. He heard Wilson and gun-bearers running to him, shouting at each other in Swahili and trying to push the buffalo aside. Just as earlier, Macomber had no time to worry beforehead, so he felt no fear and was patiently waiting for them to get him from under the carcass. He was so shocked and excited he even couldn't understand if he had been seriously injured or not. But he already understood that the animal hadn't crushed him down with all its weight. After the buffalo had been finally shot, he had took right, and the heaviest part of his torso had landed on the grass and now only his left side was pinning down Macomber's body.

Gun-bearers finally released Macomber, who was rather crumpled, but alive. Looking at the buffalo with unhealthy curiosity, he asked Wilson: 

"Was it you who did it?"

"No," responded Wilson with his face blank. "It was your damned wife."

Macomber's face fell and he turned over to see his wife standing near the car with her rifle in the air.

After they got into the car, Wilson let out a strange sound and grinned.

"That's how you make yourself into a bloody man."

"Shut up," Mrs. Macomber said fiercely. Her husband was looking away, inspecting the landscape.

He couldn't fall asleep that night, and it wasn't only the pain that tortured him, but also another feeling, that didn't differ a lot from what he had felt during their last hunting, and it was spilling all over his chest, making his heart beat so fast and strong there was almost painful pulse in his ears. It seemed like he hadn't been able to hear something else behind the thunder of the blood but he somehow noticed the quiet sound of two bare feet stepping on the floor.

Mrs. Macomber stood up and glared at her husband, but he was unsure if she had seen him staring at her or not. She headed to the exit of the tent anyway.

"You'll stay," he said. She looked at him with a frightened and at the same time stubborn expression on her face.

"Don't you dare command me," her voice was too high and a little bit hesitating, but with that she left the tent.

Macomber sat slowly on the bed. The moonlight was pretty bright and he could see almost everything in the tent. He stood up with his heart beating right in his throat.

The camp was sleeping. Wilson's tent was set up father from the rest due to his willing to keep some distance between him and everyone else. Wilson was lying on the bed, hands under his head, looking thoughtfully at the ceiling of the tent. Margot was sitting naked on the other side of the bed, her face was turned away from Wilson and from the entrance, and that's why she didn't saw Macomber, who quietly dropped in and pointed at Wilson with his rifle.

"You should go out of the tent," he said. Margot obviously heard him, but apparently she decided he had been talking to her, so she didn't even look at him.  
Wilson was unsure, why his only thought was: he learned.

Wilson wasn't even nervous, as if he had expected something like that. However, it didn't mean he was ready to give up. He stood up slowly, without any flicks, looking right into Macomber's eyes exactly like he would do if he confronted a wild animal. And he was only praying for Margot not to turn around.

Of course, she did.

"Francis, what are you doing?" she asked breathless, with an almost inaudible histerical hint in her voice.

"That's none of you business, Margot," he answered with voice low and calm, still looking directly at Wilson. "And you'll **stay here**."

"I won't..."

"You **will**."

Wilson silently passed him and went outside. He knew he had to be very careful now. But he always considered animals equal to himself, so the only difference was about him not holding a rifle. The roles had changed.

Macomber went out right after him, and Wilson heard a few quick scared steps deep in the tent, but no one appeared.

They were standing face to face about six feet far from each other. Wilson hadn't been used to talking with his opponents, so his mind was calmly but rapidly counting all possible outcomes. Macomber looked rather strange with this serious expression on his childish face, but Wilson knew it wasn't a mask or a miserable attempt to pretend he's a man. Now it was all about his genuine feelings and principles he had decided to adhere.

That's why when Macomber adjusted the position of the rifle and started to say something, Wilson rushed forward and charged.

The next thing he felt was the terrible pain in his stomach and almost immediatly after that he heard woman screaming, and the noise was getting closer and closer as he fell on the ground, touching his wet belly with his shaky hands.

"What have you done?!" he heard an unknow voice and looked up to see Margaret who grabbed her husband's left arm and was jerking it as if she wanted to tear it off. Wilson would never imagine she could scream like this.

Macomber was standing above him, looking at the dark red blood pouring throught Wilson's fingers that always held the rifle so tight, and his chest was heavily surging.

"Leave him! O my God, stop it!"

Wilson couldn't help but moaned and it sounded for him like every moan of a wounded animal he had ever heard in his life.

Macomber lowered his gun and stepped back. Margot released his arm, but didn't come closer to Wilson, instead she fell on the grass, choking on sobs.

Not at all, Wilson thought.

But then Macomber made two quick accurate steps and shot him in the head.

_"That's better," he said. "Now I'll stop."_


End file.
